


These Aren't Tears of Joy

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Discussion of Abortion, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Feelings, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Miscarriage, Modern Era, Past Child Abuse, Swedish Jesus Christ Superstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 09:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: Judas had cried the first time that they’d kissed.





	These Aren't Tears of Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Judas' mom is an awful human being and I need ya'll to be prepared for that before you proceed further.

Judas had cried the first time that they’d kissed.

Jesus hadn’t realized it at first. The tears had carved a silent path down Judas’ sun-kissed cheeks, the occasional shudder of breath slipping from between kiss-swollen lips each time that they’d parted for air. He’d tasted the saltiness of them on his tongue, mixing with the disgustingly addictive twang of black coffee and menthol cigarettes, and his hands had moved on their own accord, pushing Judas _away_ so that he could stare into those wonderfully bright blue eyes, now swollen and red and wet with tears…

He hadn’t understood it then. Judas was not a particularly tactile person, sure, but when Simon or Peter kissed him on the cheek or playfully ruffled his hair, he didn’t cry. When he drank himself into a stupor and had all-but collapsed, face-down into Bartholomew’s lap, he didn’t cry—in fact, he’d actually _laughed_ when John showed him the pictures on his phone the next day, the raven-haired man cracking a joke about keeping it on hand in case he ever needed blackmail. So what was so different about this kiss in particular?

“What’s with that face?” Judas had asked, before pressing his pointer finger into the corner of Jesus’ mouth and attempting to force his lips to curve up into a smile. “Kissing me couldn’t have possibly been that horrible, hmm?”

Jesus had looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “You’re crying.” He’d said, his voice flat. How could Judas be so oblivious to the tears that were _still_ streaking down his cheeks?

He’d actually had the nerve to _laugh_ , “I do that sometimes.”

Jesus had frowned, “It’s not the way that one usually responds to sharing a first kiss with someone.” Judas had only laughed harder, causing Jesus’ irritation to mount. “I’m sorry if I fail to see what’s so funny-,”

“What’s funny,” Judas’ voice had dropped about an octave, and he’d closed the distance between them so that their lips were about a hair’s width apart. “Is that you seem to think you’d be able to force me to do anything I didn’t already want to. I _wanted_ to kiss you.” And then, softer, “I still want to.”

In that moment, Jesus had become hyper-focused on Judas’ soft, kiss-swollen lips. He wanted to suck them between his teeth until that pretty, petal-pink skin turned a deep, luscious purple. “Then why’re you crying?”

“There’s more than one type of tears.” Judas had said, before swooping in and stealing the breath from Jesus’ lungs with another kiss that tasted of coffee and nicotine and salt and _home_.

That had been six months ago, and in that time Jesus learned that Judas turned on the waterworks for a _plethora_ of reasons that did not necessarily mean that he was sad or upset. He cried when he was happy, like when Jesus had made him a flower garland as a gag gift for his birthday—Peter had had to use his part of the rent to pay for emergency repairs on his bike, and while the rest were able to scrape together enough cash to cover him, Jesus hadn’t been able to buy the concert tickets Judas had been raving over for _months_.

So instead, he’d borrowed a book from Mary on the language of flowers and had made Judas a flower crown out of red carnations (‘my heart aches for you’), lavender roses (‘love at first sight’), coriander (‘hidden worth’), and heliotrope (‘eternal love’). This was also about the same time that he learned he was _very_ allergic to lavender. Like I-have-to-ask-Siri-to-dial-911-because-yes-my-fingers-are-that-swollen allergic. Simon had made fun of him for _weeks_ , but it was worth it to see the look on Judas’ face.

He cried when he couldn’t communicate. Judas would often grow frustrated when he could not communicate his feelings effectively, which would often result in him violently lashing out. It happened most often with Mary. Despite his best efforts, he remained unable to convince his love that Mary was not a threat to their relationship. The first time that Judas had spoken to Mary, Jesus had wanted to throttle him. He almost had. Judas’ words had been every bit as cutting as he’d intended them to be and he’d _smiled_ while Mary wept.

It had taken Jesus _hours_ to console her, to convince her that she was indeed wanted there and that Judas was not ordinarily so unkind. When he’d finally felt comfortable enough to leave her side, he’d marched straight to Judas’ room and knocked on the door so hard he practically took it off its hinges. Judas hadn’t answered, but he’d found that the door was unlock and let himself inside. All of the things he wanted to say to Judas flew right out the window when he saw him, curled up in the middle of his bed, crying.

He cried when he was bored. It was actually not all that unlike a child’s temper tantrum—he knew that, the minute tears started to pour from his pretty eyes, he’d have Jesus’ undivided attention. He used this secret weapon sparingly, not wanting to push Jesus past the metaphorical line in the sand. With great power comes great responsibility and all that jazz. He even cried during sex, especially when he was sprawled out on the bed beneath Jesus, body soft and pliant beneath his hands, blond hair sprawled out in a halo…

And he’s crying now.

“Who’s that woman there, with Judas?” Jesus asks as Bartholomew, Andrew, and John all try to subtly peer over the kitchen island at the same time to watch Judas interact with the unfamiliar woman in their doorway.

“Dunno.” Andrew says, and after a second passes, he grabs Jesus’ wrist and drags him down. “Get down before someone sees you.”

John is a bit more helpful as he supplies, “Whoever she is, Judas doesn’t seem to be particularly happy to see her. He’s done everything short of slam the goddamned door in her face.” The others murmur in agreement.

“I didn’t raise a goddamned fag!” The woman’s voice is shrill and Jesus can see the moment that Judas registers the words, can see him flinch away from her and curl in on himself. “God had mercy on me the day you ran away, boy. I wouldn’t have to come face-to-face with my greatest mistake anymore!”

“What do you want, mother?” Judas’ voice is pinched, but surprisingly even. Despite this, Jesus is certain that he’s crying.

The woman actually _spits_ in Judas’ face, and red bleeds before Jesus’ eyes. “I came to tell you something… something I should’ve said to you the minute I suspected you were a… a…”

And suddenly, Jesus can’t take it anymore. He storms over and grabs Judas’ hand with a bit more force than necessary, running his thumb along the blond’s knuckles soothingly. “There you are, love. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Judas turns to him, confused. “You’d said that you were taking a nap and had asked me to wake you for dinner…” Jesus nods and smiles reassuringly.

“Ah, yes. But I’d forgotten how cold the bed is when you’re not in it beside me.” Jesus says, and Judas’ eyes grow almost comically wide. Judas’ mother looks as though she’s about to have an aneurism on the front step.

“J-Jesus, I’d like for you to meet my mother…” he says, his perfectly coifed control wavering for the first time as fresh tears leaked from his beautiful blue eyes.

Jesus smiles at her coldly, “You mean the homophobic witch who made you cry?”

There’s a collective chorus of ‘ooos’ behind him and he has to wonder how those three ever thought that they were being sneaky. Judas swallows hard, and with the tiniest, most heart-wrenching whimper Jesus has ever heard, the floodgates burst open and Judas begins to _sob_. This is the first time that Jesus has ever seen Judas cry because he is genuinely upset about something and while he does not think himself capable of actually _hating_ someone, he imagines that, in that moment, he’s pretty damn close.

Judas’ mother is cussing up a storm and Judas actually _shrinks away_ from her, like he’s afraid she’s going to hit him. Jesus squeezes his hand harder, before gently guiding Judas to stand behind him. Even though the blond has a few inches on him, the effect is still the same. The woman scowls at him bitterly, screaming about how their kind deserve to burn in hell. Her face is almost as red as her hair and her voice is hoarse from the constant screaming… she’d crossed the line ages ago, but now…

She wags her finger in Jesus’ face and screams, “I fell down the stairs when I was seven months pregnant with that… that _thing._ I was so scared, I prayed to God every night in the hospital that he might save my baby, that he would give me a chance to show how good of a mother I could be…”

“Mother…” Judas trails off, eyes wide and wounded. He is in no way prepared for what comes next—and really, who could have been?

“If I’d known what you would become,” she looks on him with such disgust, it makes Jesus want to cry. “I would have begged for you to die!”

“That’s enough!” Jesus barks, and the ferocity of it is enough to stop the homophobic woman in her tracks. “You… You _disgust_ me. You don’t deserve to have such a loving, generous, kind-hearted man call you ‘mother’. The fact that he was willing to stand there while he _knew_ you would hurt him so carelessly is a testament to all the love this man has inside of him.”

“Who the hell do you think you are, to talk to me like-,”

Jesus doesn’t let her finish, continuing, “I’ve seen Judas cry a number of times since he began following me. Tears are the purest way which one can express emotion, and I’ve been privileged to share so many different tears with Judas.” He turns to his lover, offering him a small smile, “The only tears I had not seen were tears of sadness… until today. Thanks to you.”

Judas shakes his head, “I’m… I’m okay, Jesus. Really. It’s nothing that I haven’t heard before.” If possible, Judas’ murmured confession makes him hate those tears even more—they are a manifestation of pain he cannot take away.

“Leave.” Jesus says firmly, steely brown eyes locked with the woman’s hateful blue. “I don’t know what possessed you to come here today, but see to it that it doesn’t happen again. Because if I see you _anywhere_ near Judas, I’ll call the cops.”

“You disrespectful little cock-sucker-,”

He slams the door in her face, and slides the deadbolt into place before she can even think about trying anything. He’s not prepared for the way that Judas launches himself into his arms before he’s barely even turned around, and suddenly Judas’ face is in his neck and his soft, cotton button-down becomes slick with tears and snot and eyeliner and god, it’s a good thing he loves Judas because that is just downright _disgusting_. Nevertheless, he’s hugging him back as tight as he dares, trying to breathe in his pain.

A few minutes pass and he realizes that they’re likely to be here for a while, so he takes the opportunity to make a few jerky hand-motions to signal the three buffoons that are _still_ hiding away in the kitchen to get the hell out of dodge. They scurry off and Judas is none the wiser, which Jesus is unbelievably thankful for because he knows that the blond would positively lose his shit if anyone else saw him this way. He rubs soothing circles into the small of Judas’ back, murmuring sweet nothings in his ear as he sobs.

Eventually, he calms down to the point where Jesus feels comfortable enough to pull away and meet the other’s red-rimmed blue eyes, “Do you want to go lay down, love? We don’t even have to sleep, just… I have this overwhelming desire to hold you right now.”

Judas sniffles, and it is actually probably one of the most disgusting things that Jesus has ever heard. And he loves him all the more for it. “I’m sorry that she’s like that…”

Jesus shakes his head, “Everything that happened back there..? None of it was your fault, Judas. None of it. If she can’t see how amazing, and special, and _perfect_ you are, that’s her loss.”

“I… I never thought she’d say something like that to me, though.” Judas whispers, his voice growing a bit steadier. “Of all the shitty stuff she’s said over the years, to wish that she’d miscarried me…”

“Stop.” Jesus can see that Judas’ mind is headed down a dark path and he won’t allow it, “Sometimes, family isn’t blood. Family are those that we choose. And everyone here _loves_ you and _needs_ you, just the way you are.” He kisses the corner of Judas’ mouth. “ _I love you_.”

Judas hides his face in Jesus’ neck and murmurs, “I love you too.”

Jesus begins to steer them down the hall toward his bedroom, and once inside he doesn’t even bother helping Judas to strip down before shoving him down onto the bed, plopping himself down alongside him. “Cuddles?”

And Judas laughs for the first time that night as Jesus finagles him into being the little spoon. “Yeah. Cuddles.”


End file.
